I'm Not Afraid of Trouble-Let Me Handle It

Upon hearing Sherlock's words, Iver raised an eyebrow and revealed a meaningful smile, "What do you think?"

"... I originally had some ideas in mind."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze sharpening. "But now I'm starting to suspect it was you. Even if it wasn't you, you at least know the inside story."

Who were you originally thinking of?

Iver asked with great interest.

Sherlock took a bite of his unlit cigar and replied, "What I was thinking was... what if the professor isn't dead?"

"Because the new minister's style of doing things seems to be somewhat similar to his. There are only a few people who can get in touch with the Queen and are trusted by His Majesty without any merit. Excluding those who have already become ministers, there are actually not many people left."

Without a doubt, the "professor" Sherlock refers to is James Moriarty, Iver's adoptive father.

During his investigation, he was almost killed by Edward. It was only because Sherlock chickened out of spite that Edward spared him, out of consideration for their friendship.

Although Sherlock has claimed that he will no longer investigate, he has not forgotten the content of his previous investigation.

"Since you faked your death, and I faked my death... is it possible that the professor also faked his death?"

Sherlock made a very reasonable deduction.

Others might not immediately think of this, but it was something Sherlock was aware of. Since Sherlock was aware of this, he could naturally guess this possibility.

"From this perspective, it's possible that the minister isn't Edward. The professor faked his death on the surface, and then secretly served as Edward's advisor..."

"Why can't it be Edward?"

Iver chuckled and retorted, "Why does he have to be someone's agent?"

"...Um."

Sherlock pondered for a moment and came up with a more polite response, "I think, given his personality, it would be difficult for him to make such a decision."

The implication is that Edward isn't that smart.

"So, do you think I look like it?" Iver asked with a smile.

"That's certainly possible. Putting aside the curse that might provoke controversy and backlash, focusing on Master Lars's brutal murder of female students... that's kind of your style."

Sherlock fell into deep thought, "But since you've asked that question, then perhaps things aren't so simple..."

"Style? What style do I have?"

Iver was somewhat curious about Sherlock's assessment, as he himself didn't even know what his own style was.

Sherlock commented, "He's a bit like Iris nobleman, or a newspaper editor, or Magician performing in a tavern."

"You're just a liar who spouts nothing but lies. Is that what you really want to say?"

"More than that. Besides being adept at lying and convincing people, they are also extremely cunning. Even when they are telling the truth, they can mislead people in different directions. They like to manipulate words and language, and in turn, manipulate other people's minds..."

"I get it. You're going to call me Fox Spirit again, aren't you?"

"Yes, just like the ' Fox Spirit ' the ancients spoke of."

Sherlock, without batting an eye, retorted sarcastically, "This is how Bewitching the Lord."

"So what are you, a seagull? Or a pelican?"

Iver pointed to the cigar Sherlock was holding. "He's holding a cigarette but not smoking it."

"I'm not smoking because you're here, Mr. Fox."

Sherlock glared at Iver, his tone not very friendly. "Ms. Mina has told me many times that you are not in good health and that I shouldn't smoke in front of you—to be honest, I don't really think there's anything wrong with your health."

"You look much better, Sherlock."

Just then, a clear and calm voice came from the doorway. "Have your sleep and diet become healthier?"

That was the voice of Mr. Mycroft Holmes.

Sherlock's expression changed slightly. He pulled his left leg back from the table and propped himself up from his slumped position. He took the cigar from his mouth—since the cigar box was next to Iver, he didn't have time to put it back in and tried to hide it under the table.

But that would be too unhygienic. Iver simply reached out and took the cigar, placing it back on the shelf in front of him.

The next moment, Ms. Mina appeared from the doorway with Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled and nodded slightly to Iver.

The tall, imposing man, resembling a fat seal, removed his black bowler hat, revealing black hair and piercing amber eyes, just like Sherlock's.

Iver also stood up, smiled at him, and nodded with his hand on his chest in return.

"Your brother is here to see you, Sherlock."

Ms. Mina looked somewhat troubled. "I was going to try to smooth things over for you, but he was so sure you were here... so I brought him up."

Mina was dressed as usual in her fortune teller's black dress, clearly minding the shop downstairs when Mycroft caught her.

"Please help me up, Ms. Mina. Thank you very much—another part of my thanks is for taking good care of Sherlock. The Hermes Family will cover all his living expenses during this time and thereafter."

Mycroft's voice was neither deep nor authoritative.

He wasn't like Sherlock, languid, elegant yet acerbic; instead, he was gentle to the point of comfort, easy to forget, yet always gave people a sense of security.

It's like that kind of uncle or maternal uncle who has a good personality and always brings back gifts when he goes on business trips—he's a close elder, but the relationship isn't that direct, so he won't scold you every day. By keeping your distance, you actually become more friendly.

"It's alright, Sherlock is very sensible. He's not a child anymore, so it's hardly a matter of taking care of him..."

Mina glanced at Iver, and only left after seeing Iver nod, saying with relief, "I have to go down to the shop, I'm sorry I can't make you tea..."

"It's alright, Ms. Mina. We'll take good care of ourselves."

Iver smiled and waved, watching the landlady leave.

After Ms. Mina left, Mycroft sat down on another sofa between Iver and Sherlock. As soon as he sat down, the sofa sank inward, making a creaking sound like walking on snow under its weight.

The first thing Mycroft did after sitting down was to glance at the brand of the cigars on the table.

He glanced at Sherlock and casually asked, "Out of money again?"

"Tsk..."

Sherlock didn't ask him silly questions like "How did you know?" He just scratched his head in annoyance. "After all, I haven't been to work for a long time."

His so-called "going to work" was helping the Bureau of Supervision solve cases— the Bureau of Supervision would give him some bonuses as compensation for his work as a consultant detective.

"That has nothing to do with it. Your income is not low. The main problem is that you are too wasteful and never save money."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock, his gaze as calm as a lake. "You'll advance in just a few days. Will you still be able to afford the advancement materials?"

"The Full Moon Ritual doesn't require any expensive materials."

Being watched by his brother made Sherlock a little annoyed. "What's there to not be able to afford? Besides, I've written a book, and I'll have money once it's published."

"And then it ran out of money very quickly, right?"

Mycroft looked at Sherlock and said calmly, "You know, I was talking about Drunken Dream Tincture."

"This isn't my first time advancing, it's not a big problem."

Sherlock was somewhat stubborn. "Only when one suffers immense pain in a dream, or is disturbed in reality, can the dream of advancement be interrupted. I've already advanced normally once, and this time Princess and Iver were there too..."

"It's precisely because Her Highness the Princess is involved this time. What if something goes wrong on your end?"

Mycroft remained calm and composed, saying slowly, "You don't think Isabel is here to help you advance your cultivation level, do you?"

After he finished speaking, he took out two small boxes from his pocket.

They were two small, round metal boxes, about the size of a thumb, resembling menthol balms. Etched on them was a crescent moon pattern with a human face.

It was Drunken Dream Tincture.

"These are all new stock this year. Even if you don't use them, they can last for several years. One for each of you."

Mycroft laughed at Iver, "This isn't some 'reward for taking care of Sherlock,' nor is it a formal gift—just consider it a small present you bring when visiting a friend."

This casual gift you brought along is worth several hundred White Crown Coin. A well-trained purebred hunting dog would cost about that much.

Iver thought to himself. However, he didn't refuse and accepted it directly.

For him now, this wasn't a huge sum of money. Although he hadn't taken over the Moriarty Family's business yet, it would be quite easy for him to ask Edward for money to buy a return gift of the same caliber.

"A congratulatory gift?"

Sherlock keenly heard this word: "So, it really is you, Minister?"

Mycroft didn't pat Sherlock on the head or make any physical contact. He simply said calmly, "Since you know that, you should show some respect to Minister Moriarty, Sherlock. Minister Moriarty is His Majesty's right-hand man, and should be His Majesty's right-hand man in the future."

"...yes."

Sherlock reluctantly rose and bowed to Iver: "My apologies, Your Excellency."

Where Mycroft couldn't see, he subtly moved his lips towards Iver, making the shape of a "Fox".

Iver didn't mind at all; instead, he smiled and nodded repeatedly, feeling refreshed.

As Hermes Family faction affiliated with the Iron-Blooded Queen... Sherlock now has to bow down to him.

"Well, Sherlock?"

Iver chuckled, "Want to join my Minister of Everything? I should still have a secretary position I can reserve."

That's definitely what I was thinking.

Sherlock thought to himself.

He didn't completely hate Avalon's Civil Servant system. He just hated the ministers... He had even wanted to be Mycroft's secretary, but Mycroft had dismissed him with a few easy questions.

But how can you make yourself appear less like that?

"That's what we say, but it still needs Her Majesty the Queen's approval."

Mycroft chimed in, "After all, Sherlock isn't a civil servant. Although the Minister of Everything of Justice doesn't have its own administrative affairs, it's not something you can just parachute in like that... He needs a title. What do you think of Royal Agent? Minister Moriarty? That way, his faked death would have a plausible explanation, and it wouldn't seem too stupid—it's His Majesty's mission, so our parents probably won't be too harsh on him."

"I think it's okay."

Iver replied, "Please also give my regards to Lord Arthur."

The two of them worked together to finalize the deal with Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't dislike it; on the contrary, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Then Mycroft smiled and began to get down to business—clearly he hadn't come specifically to see his brother.

"Minister Moriarty, are you familiar with my Wooden Barrel Club?"

"Sherlock mentioned it to me, what's wrong? Also, you can just call me Iver."

"The problem is neither major nor minor."

Mycroft said slowly, "It's just that Mr. Lars Graham deposited some documents and assets at my club. I don't want this to attract the attention of the Bureau of Supervision, because the Wooden Barrel Club is full of people who hate trouble and noise. But it's not good for me to handle these things privately either..."

"So could you come and be our witness? If you think there's anything that's dangerous and needs to be kept by us, please point it out so we can avoid unnecessary trouble caused by improper storage or containment."

The implication is that we dare not touch the things left behind by the Bone Carver.

If you want it, please take it with you; we're afraid of causing trouble.

"Of course... no problem."

Iver said with a smile, "I'm not afraid of trouble."

Update complete!

It's a bit late, but today's update is close to 8,000 words!